


A Song for the Dark

by hilaryfaye



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:44:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch receives a visitor that he did not expect to ever see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song for the Dark

Pitch was laying on the stone floor of his cavern, wondering how it could hurt so much when he was not moving at all.

The Nightmares had dispersed, gone off after some other, more interesting target. Pitch didn’t know if it had been hours or days or even years since he had been dragged down here by his own creations, but it didn’t much matter to him. For the first time in a very long time, Pitch found himself wishing to die.

He wouldn’t, of course. Death had nothing to do with him, just as Death had little to do with the Guardians, or with the Man in the Moon. They were ignored, because Death had more important things to do than to intervene in their war. 

So Pitch laid there, and wished. 

This battle had been the one he pinned all his hopes on, though he did his best to act as though  _hope_  were beneath him. Hope was for those who were uncertain. 

Every bone in his body ached. His spine protested the slightest movement, his neck felt permanently stuck at the awkward angle in which he currently laid, staring with burning eyes as the hollow globe that illuminated the cavern. So many lights, each one a pinprick reminder of his defeat. 

Pitch closed his eyes, curling in on himself, though it hurt even more to move than it did to lay still. If only those blasted Guardians had finished the job. They could be rid of him forever, just as they wanted, and he would not have to lie here and think of it.

Pitch heard the soft footsteps, but he did not move. 

His visitor was too quiet to be a Nightmare, and he could not imagine why one of the Guardians would be there. He kept his eyes shut, wishing it was just his imagination, and knowing better. 

The air whispered as the visitor knelt behind him. Pitch still did not open his eyes. He was too weak to fight, anyway. He tried to determine from the slight sounds who it was that was peering down at him, trying to ascertain whether he was alive or dead. Not Sandy, surely—Sandy emanated a soft warmth and usually smelled like cinnamon. 

No, the air around this one felt cool, but not so cold as Frost, and smelled of night air after a rain, with a hint of lightning.

_Oh. I know you._

A slender hand stroked Pitch’s face, and Pitch shuddered. The hand flinched back.

Pitch opened his eyes a little, peering up at the boy. “I did not expect to ever see you again."

Nightlight didn’t answer. The soft glow around him was met with shadows, the gloom of the cavern still heavy, even with the absence of all of those who had once served Pitch.

Those cool hands came back to Pitch’s face. Nightlight stared down at him, his face somber. 

"I didn’t want you to see me like this," Pitch rasped. Nightlight’s brows furrowed, as if he were trying to look serious—but he still looked too much a boy for it to do him much good. 

If he was looking for an explanation of Pitch’s sorry state, Pitch wasn’t going to give it to him. It was too humiliating, to recount this failure, to a boy who had already seen him fail many times. “Your friends will be glad to know that you’re back."

Nightlight shook his head and sat, cradling Pitch’s head in his lap. Pitch sighed, unable to keep his eyes open. Nightlight’s fingers combed through his hair. “You became far too comfortable here," he murmured. “When you were locked away in the dark."

He felt Nightlight’s hands hesitate. He wouldn’t have forgotten all those years he spent trapped in Pitch’s heart, becoming more intimately familiar with the dark than any of the others would ever be. Only Sandy had ever come close to that knowledge, and only recently. 

"You should leave," Pitch said. “Your friends will want to see you, you—"

Nightlight put his hand over Pitch’s mouth. His thumb stroked Pitch’s cheek, gaunt though it was. 

"The others can wait," Nightlight said softly. He had a lilting voice, like music or raindrops. 

Pitch drew in a ragged breath. “You used to sing," he whispered.

Nightlight went back to stroking Pitch’s hair. “It’s been a long time," he murmured. “I don’t remember many songs."

Pitch felt a headache growing behind his eyes. “You could kill me and I’d thank you for it."

Nightlight moved a hand to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I tried to kill you once. It didn’t turn out very well." 

Pitch smiled. “No. It didn’t." He was so tired. “I just want to sleep."

Nightlight pressed a cool hand to Pitch’s face. He sang softly, so quietly Pitch didn’t bother to try and make out the words. It sounded old and lovely, a song that reminded him of something beyond the point where his memory was no longer clear, of a life before that he had tried many times to forget. No one had sung for him in a very long time. 

Nightlight bent, laying a cool kiss on Pitch’s forehead. 

He sat, holding the sleeping Nightmare King, though it seemed that the king was without a kingdom. 

He would stay as long as he needed.

It had been a very long time, and no one was expecting him back. 


End file.
